


Fight For It

by teacuphuman



Category: Boxing - Fandom, Inception (2010), MMA - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, I hate you but you're too hot to ignore, M/M, UFC Fighter!Eames, We have sex but I mostly dislike you, angry flirting, manager!ARTHUR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-19 21:33:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11906622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: It’s been said that Arthur hates Eames, but to Arthur, ‘hate’ isn’t a strong enough word. Loathe, despise, abhor, all good verbs, but none of them encompass the depth of Arthur’s feelings towards Eames. Because Eames is rude, and cocky, and full of swagger, and worst of all, talented.Or, the one based on the Mayweather/McGregor fight tomorrow because I'm not convinced that Conor McGregor isn't Tom Hardy's evil twin.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> God, I'm so sorry for this.
> 
> See end notes for Chav glossary of terms. (for some reason you can only see the glossary if you click on the link below this sentence. Shrug.

It’s been said that Arthur hates Eames, but to Arthur, ‘hate’ isn’t a strong enough word. Loathe, despise, abhor, all good verbs, but none of them encompass the depth of Arthur’s feelings towards Eames. Because Eames is rude, and cocky, and full of swagger, and worst of all, talented. He’s the current UFC Lightweight Champion and hands down the hottest thing Arthur’s ever laid eyes on. He’d gone rock hard the first time he saw Eames fight and that had been a shaky, three year old youtube video on his phone. But the jumpy shots couldn’t hide how quick and competent Eames was in the ring. How fucking  _ intelligent  _ he fought.

 

Normally, Eames wouldn’t even be in Arthur’s orbit. He’s strictly a boxing man and has been known to laugh heartily at the suggestion that UFC or MMA can compete in the same ring as the grace and beauty of a good boxing match. Boxing has its own language, a complex dialect that takes a lifetime to learn. It’s a dance, a contest where defeat is declared not when you fall, but when you refuse to stand again.

 

What Eames does is nothing more than glorified wrestling with a little blood mixed in with the cheap shots. Eames grins like a maniac when Arthur tells him this to his face, his crooked front teeth gleaming in the lights of the board room, and goddamn it, Arthur wants to lick them.

 

“Ya dinnit like it rough, then, pet?” Eames asked, leaning across the table in his ostentatious green and white suit. There were fucking yellow crowns on it, how is Arthur supposed to take him seriously? The mirrored aviators don’t help.

 

“Ari, please control your client before I slap him with another sexual harassment charge. That would be your fifth this year, wouldn’t it, Mr. Hodgson? Oh, I’m sorry, you don’t like being called that, do you?” Arthur smiles as Eames’ grin goes tight. “Don’t want to be associated with Daddy, isn’t that right? Might ruin your brawler image.”

 

“Only thin’ that crump give me was his name,” Eames says, leaning back, any trace of annoyance bleeding out as he spreads his arms wide. “N’ his pretty face.”

 

“The contracts have been signed, Arthur,” Ari sighs. “This thing is happening whether you like it or not.”

 

Arthur tears his eyes away from the stretch of Eames’ white shirt over his broad chest, the fabric thin enough that Arthur can make out some of the many tattoos that cover Eames’ body. He’s seen them all online, Eames rarely wears anything but low-slug sweats or shorts in his daily life, but something about being so close to all that colourful ink makes Arthur want to trace them with his fingertips.

 

“You realize you’re going to lose, right?” Arthur asks. “I’m not posturing here, I’m dead serious. You’re not a boxer, you can’t use any of your quick tricks in the ring, and Yusuf is the best. Even two years of retirement hasn’t softened him to the point where you’re going to find an advantage.”

 

“Eames’ hits are -” Ari starts.

 

“I don’t care if they’re harder,” Arthur cuts her off. “He has to be able to land one for it to be effective. Yusuf is a defensive fighter, everyone knows that. He’s not going to slip.” Arthur looks at Eames, trying to find his eyes behind the sunglasses. “He’s going to win.”

 

Eames stares at him, his fingers twitching minutely on the arm on his chair. “Ya worried about me, lush?”

 

“I’m worried about you making my client look bad. The lead up to this fight is going to a spectacle, we all know that, but if you go down in the first round, we’ll all catch shit. The promoters, the fans, they’ll burn us all. There’s a lot of money at stake if you don’t perform.”

 

Eames sucks on his teeth and smirks. “Ya condescension, as always, is like, much appreciated, Arthur, cheers mate.”

 

“You worry about your boy and I’ll worry about mine,” Ari tells him, shoving the appearance schedule across the table. “Sign the fucking timetable.”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Promo Tour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd because tired.

Arthur’s pretty sure he has an ulcer. The press tour is only four stops over five days, but his odds at making through it aren’t looking good. Plus, he heard Ari’s taking bets on whether his stomach or his blood pressure will take him down first.

 

It’s stupid, it’s so fucking stupid, because Arthur is a professional. He’s been one of the best in the business for ten years and he’s encountered a lot of egos. Egos the size of continents, egos that would put A-Rod to shame, but none of them set his teeth on edge like Eames.

 

They’re in New York for the third stop of the tour, and Eames and Yusuf are about to take the stage at Madison Square Gardens. They’ve sold out the venue and there’s more money on the line than Arthur’s ever promoted, and all he can fucking think about is that Eames waxed poetic about Arthur’s ass for five entire minutes in Toronto the night before. On stage. In front of a packed arena and god knows how many camera crews.

 

Eames’ words were colourful, if barely coherent, but they were enough to light a spark that quickly caught flame when he linked the subject to rumours of Yusuf’s marital trouble. Arthur knew it was mostly posturing, and that the fighters were expected to put on a show, but he really didn’t try very hard when the time came to hold Yusuf back instead of letting him take a swing.

 

“So was he right?” Ari asks, stopping in front of Arthur in the hall outside the green room.

 

“About what?” Arthur spits, trying his best to reign in his frayed temper.

 

“About your brand of underwear,” she smirks. “He seemed to have an awful lot of details about your backside.”

 

“Fuck off, Ari,” Arthur groans. 

 

“Hey, I’m just wondering if I need to worry about you messing with my boy’s head before the fight. I can keep you two apart if I have to. There’s too much money on the line to fuck this up, Arthur.”

 

“The only one messing with Eames’ head is Eames. He should be focusing on the fight, not on pissing me off.”

 

“He is focused. If I were Yusuf, I’d be a lot more worried than he seems to be. Eames isn’t all talk, and you know it. He’s number one in his sport for a reason, and he’s my fighter for a reason.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, the two of you are going to revolutionize the industry, I’ve heard the spiel, Ari.”

 

“Then you know this fight is only the beginning,” Ari sighs and rubs her forehead. “Let’s just get through this, okay? And then you two can fuck off to opposite corners of the world. Sound good?”

 

“Whatever, he’s totally going to lose,” Arthur grouses. “Wait, what is that?” Arthur pushes past Ari towards a back door where a very large man is carrying an even larger boa constrictor. “Oh, no, he fucking is not!”

 

Ari’s laughter echoes behind him as the man disappears into Eames’ dressing room. Thirty minutes later Arthur’s watching the sweat pool on Yusuf’s upper lip while his fighter acts like he’s not side-eying the snake Eames has draped over his bare shoulders as he struts around the stage. Arthur has no idea how Eames found out about Yusuf’s fear of the fucking things, but he’s going to murder whoever let it slip.

 

“He’s rinsed!” Eames shouts, pointing at Yusuf with his stupid tattooed hands. “Look at ‘im, he’s bare shook! ‘An’t even look at me, he knows he’s done! He’s bait and I’m a beast!”

 

“Does anyone understand a word he’s fucking saying?” Arthur mutters and he sees Yusuf’s lips curl up.

 

“What ya smilin’ about bruv?” Eames demands, stalking closer. “Come on, tell these heads.”

 

Yusuf turns slowly, fixing Eames with the dark-eyed stare that has sent men scarier than Eames running for the hills. “I was thinking about how I’ll always be known as the best in the world and you’ll never be anything but a little pissant who can’t get over his daddy issues.”

 

The crowd cheers and the mocking smile drops off Eames’ face. 

 

“Is that was this is about?” Yusuf continues, stepping right up to Eames despite the snake. “You trying to make your daddy regret the day he threw you out on your ass? Show him you’re a real man now? Show him you’re worth something?”

 

Arthur takes in a slow breath because this is it, this is the show the people have some to see. Yusuf’s calm and pointed barbs against Eames’ brash insults. Stir for a minute then watch it boil over.

 

Eames snorts and presses forward, nearly touching Yusuf’s chest. His eyes are jumping over Yusuf’s face, and he looks like he wants to take a shot, but in the next breath he’s laughing, stepping back and petting the snake. 

 

“Me' father doesn't want owt to dee with fuckin me, n' neither should ya. This piece is fuckin’ long, innit?” He shouts to the crowd, laughing as he throws himself into his chair.

 

By the time it’s over and Arthur has everyone in cars headed for the airport, his head is throbbing. Yusuf is on the phone with his wife and Arthur’s scrolling through his emails, pretending he can’t hear them arguing. Eames was right, there are problems there, but it’s only because Yusuf came out of retirement for this fight. He needs the prize money, and it didn’t take much convincing to get him to agree. Arthur’s been informed he’s no longer welcome in their home, but that’s fine, Yusuf’s going to wipe the floor with Eames, and then all will be forgiven. Funny how $200 million can heal all wounds.

 

When they get to the airport, Ari’s waiting for them with a frown. “Something’s wrong with our plane, we’re sharing yours.”

 

“Like hell you are,” Arthur tells her, grabbing his bag from the trunk.

 

“Word came down from on high, we don’t have a choice.” 

 

Arthur groans, but relents. The plane says Saito on the tail, a perfect match to the promos for the fight, and what Saito says goes.

 

“Fine, but they don’t speak a word to each other. Not one word. Tell Eames not to even look at Yusuf. In fact, tell him not to speak to me either.”

 

Ari rolls her eyes and jogs up the steps of the plane. Arthur gets Yusuf settled at the front, positioning a wall of their people between him and Eames. It’s a six hour flight and he has the feeling sleep isn’t going to come easy.

 

Eames grins at him from the back of the plane, then mimes zipping and locking his lips, tossing the imaginary key over his shoulder with a wink. Arthur orders a scotch and goes over the next day’s itinerary one more time. 

 

They’re halfway over the Atlantic when the scotch hits him and he gets up to stretch and use the bathroom. The one on their side of the plane is occupied and he does a quick head count, stomping his foot a little when he sees it’s Nash who must be using it. No way can Arthur hold it long enough to wait for Nash to coax his shy bladder into performing, so he makes his way to the back of the plane. Ari’s people are mostly sleeping, taking advantage of the downtime to recharge and ready themselves for the chaos that is certain to be Eames on his home turf.

 

The man himself is curled into a fleece blanket, gold thread winding through it to outline a giant tiger with it’s mouth opened wide. The way Eames is sitting it sort of looks like the tiger is going to eat his head and Arthur spends a moment staring at it, waiting, before he shakes himself and hurries along. He really needs to get some fucking sleep.

 

Arthur’s barely tucked himself back into his underwear when the bathroom door behind him opens up and Eames barges in.

 

“What the fuck?” 

 

Eames presses a finger to his lips and pushes Arthur down onto the closed toilet seat. He feigns unlocking and unzipping his lips, then drops into a squat in front of Arthur.

 

“What are you - oh, holy fuck!” Arthur gasps when Eames pulls him out and swallows him down in one fell swoop. Eames’ hands are on Arthur’s hips, keeping him pinned down like there’s anywhere Arthur can even escape to. Eames’ broad shoulders are taking up what limited space there is between Arthur and the door, and quite honestly, there’s nowhere Arthur would rather be right now than between the plush lips of the UFC World Lightweight Champion.

 

It’s hot and wet, and Arthur can’t help but thrust into it, biting down on the heel of his palm while the other hand tangles in Eames’ hair and pushes him down. Eames never makes a sound, but his enthusiasm speaks volumes as he bobs his head, nearly choking himself on Arthur’s cock as he sucks and slurps from root to tip. It’s only a few short minutes before the shock of his pleasure and the lack of sleep catch up with him and Arthur’s tugging at Eames’ hair in warning. Eames pulls off, jerking Arthur into his soft, open mouth, and god, if that’s not a sight Arthur could die happy seeing, then the picture of Eames’ beard covered in his come certainly is. Eames licks his fingers clean and stands, adjusting himself in his hideous track pants and wiping his face with a damp towel. 

 

Arthur’s still heaving on the toilet seat, barely conscious, but very aware of the splash of his come that Eames missed under the edge of his jaw. Eames winks and slips out the door, leaving Arthur to pull himself together before shuffling out shame-faced. When he passes by, Eames is once again curled up under his blanket, snoring softly without a care in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary  
> “He’s rinsed!” - He’s used up.  
> “Look at ‘im, he’s bare shook! ‘An’t even look at me, he knows he’s done! He’s bait and I’m a beast!” - Look at him, he’s so nervous! He can’t even look at me because he knows his career is over! It’s so obvious and I’m amazing! (this one doesn’t translate as well)  
> “What ya smilin’ about bruv?” - What are you smiling about, man?  
> “Come on, tell these heads.” - Come on, tell the people.  
> “Me' father doesn't want owt to dee with fuckin me, n' neither should ya. This piece is fuckin’ long, innit?” - My father doesn't want anything to do with me, and neither should you. This isn’t worth my time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the weigh-in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glorious manip by @youcantsaymylastname who is amazing and spoils me silly!

Arthur’s on the balcony of one of the Aria suites at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas, smoking his way through the pack of cigarettes he bought after the shit show in London. He hasn’t smoked in six years, but Eames seems to be bringing out all his vices. Like swearing too much and jerking off in public washrooms.

 

Eames in front of his home crowd was so much worse than Arthur could have expected. Yusuf had barely gotten a word in over the chanting of the crowd. The chorus of ‘Eames! Eames! Eames!’ had pounded in his head for hours afterward. And through it all, Eames had just stared at Arthur with that shit-eating grin, even after they cut his mic, like he was proving a point. A point other than pairing a fur coat with flowered pants should be illegal. 

 

But the heat had still been there. Even after the incident on the plane, Arthur still wanted him. Wanted to spread him out and sink his teeth into the lean curves of Eames’ body, scratch his nails over his terrible tattoos. Make Eames forget everything but Arthur’s name. And Eames knew it. The way he looked at Arthur on that stage, dragging his tongue across his front teeth like he was still savouring the taste of Arthur’s come.

 

It makes Arthur’s blood boil, and it makes it really fucking hard to do his job. Arthur is a professional and he prides himself on his attention to detail and his ability to foresee any and all outcomes. But in no way did Arthur see Eames coming.

 

“Dem garms, mate,” Eames whistles through his teeth from behind Arthur. “Got me marvin’ for ya.”

 

“I never have any idea what the fuck you’re saying,” Arthur grumbles, stubbing out his cigarette on the railing.

 

“Ya heard me fine on the plane n' I didn't say a word, did I?” Eames says lowly, coming to stand beside him.

 

Arthur can feel his ears burning, but he refuses  to rise to the taunt. He lights another cigarette and blows the smoke directly into Eames’ face.

 

Eames laughs, waving it away. “Ya so extra, lush. A weenie 'lil tingsing 'etween mates is like harmless, innit?”

 

“Seriously, not a fucking word,” Arthur says, shaking his head.

 

“Flirting, Arthur,” Eames says, his voice lower and smoother than Arthur’s ever heard it, his accent posh and rounded.

 

“I knew all the chav shit was a ruse,” Arthur gloats.

 

“S’not a ruse. It’s a life choice.”

 

“Going vegan is a life choice, lowering your station to garner a fanbase is a career choice.” Arthur leans on the railing again, looking out over the lights of the strip. He hates Vegas.

 

“People who sound like this don’t often need someone to root for. Hoodies from ends, do, ya?” Eames raises an eyebrow.

 

Arthur doesn’t respond, just keeps smoking and trying not to check Eames out from the corner of his eye. He’s wearing a shirt tonight, though it’s tight across his chest and his nipples are visibly pebbled and hard in the cool night air. Sounds from the party in the suite trickle out to them, but no one else comes outside. They’re mostly hidden by a massive cement pillar, so when Eames’ arm presses against Arthur’s, there’s no one to hide from.

 

“I won the weigh-in,” Eames says quietly.

 

“I know, I was there.”

 

“Were ya? I dinnit remember,” Eames teases.

 

Arthur snorts. “Oh, no? Was the half chub you were sporting for someone else, then?”

 

Eames laughs, a quiet giggle that makes Arthur squirm. “What else was I suppose to dee, standin' ther in me jock in front of ya in tha suit?”

 

“So it was for me,” Arthur gloats.

 

“S’all for ya,” Eames whispers, his lips running over the shell of Arthur’s ear.

 

Arthur takes a deep breath to compose himself because the desire to sink to his knees and worship Eames’ cock is strong and doing that outside a hotel room full of industry people would not be good for his career. Although, it would probably boost Eames’ fucking numbers.

 

“Weight doesn’t win fights,” Arthur says, pointedly, shaking Eames off.

 

Eames steps back, but doesn’t look deterred. “What’ll ya give me if I win?”

 

“Oh it’s ‘if’ now, not ‘when’?” Arthur turns to him.

 

“Arthur,” Eames growls.

 

“You’re not going to win, Eames. I’m sorry, but you’re not.”

 

Eames smirks. “Ya're nit don't giv two shites if I win, ya just lookin’ ta git paid.”

 

“I get paid either way, but pretty much. This is it for me, after this fight I’m out,” Arthur confesses, taking another drag.

 

Eames stares at him until Arthur starts to fidget, cursing himself for being so open to Eames’ scrutiny.

 

“If I win, ya come work wif me and Ari,” Eames says, the seriousness in his tone nearly knocking Arthur over.

 

“What?” Arthur asks, laughing to hide his shock.

 

“Ya knar what us're doin' here, changin' things. Help us,” Eames steps forward, his hand sliding to Arthur’s hip under his jacket. “Help me.”

 

“I honestly don’t know what to say to that. I, um, I’m flattered, I guess, but, Eames, you can’t be serious.” Eames’ thumb is stroking over his waist, sending shivers through him, but Arthur still can’t believe this is happening. “We don’t even like each other.”

 

“Makes it bare fun, innit?” Eames grins, his fingers digging into Arthur side.

 

“What do I get if you lose?” Arthur asks, biting his lip against a grin and grabbing Eames’ wrist to stop the tickling.

 

Eames shrugs. “Ya ‘an fuck me.”

 

Arthur laughs and pulls Eames closer, deeper into the alcove behind the pillar. He curves a hand around the back of Eames neck and licks a stripe over his jaw, right where his come had landed on the plane. “I’m going to fuck you either way, but man cannot live on ass alone. I’m going to need you to meet my fee.”

 

Eames breath is shaky, his hands strong on Arthur’s chest as he clings. “Anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary
> 
> “Dem garms, mate,” - Those clothes, man.  
> “Got me marvin’ for ya.” - Got me starving/hungering for you.  
> “Ya heard me fine on the plane n' i didn't say a word, did i? - You heard me fine on the plane and I didn’t have to say a word, did I?  
> “Ya so extra, lush. A weenie 'lil tingsing 'etween mates is like harmless, innit?” - You’re too much, (good-looking). A little flirting between friends is harmless, isn’t it?  
> “Hoodies from ends do, ya?” - Guys from the street do, you know?  
> “Were ya? I dinnit remember.” - Were you? I don’t remember,  
> “What else was I suppose to dee, standin' ther in me jock in front of ya in tha suit?” - What else was I supposed to do/How else was I supposed to react, standing there in my underwear in front of you in that suit?  
> “S’all for ya,” - It’s all for you,  
> “Ya're nit don't giv two shites if I win, ya just lookin’ ta git paid.” - You don’t care if I win, you just want to make sure you get paid.  
> “If I win, ya come work wif me and Ari,” - If I win, you come work with me and Ari,  
> “Ya knar what us're doin' here, changin' things.” - You know what we’re doing here, changing things.  
> “Makes it bare fun, innit?” - Makes it a lot of fun, doesn’t it?  
> “Ya ‘an fuck me.” - You can fuck me. (Yeow!)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to the lovelies of the Inception Slack, who let me go on and on about my love/hate for Conor McGregor and who put up with my ramblings through the fight last night. At no point did I think McGregor would win, but he did last longer than I thought, and he performed better, as well. Eames was always going to lose his fight, but I'm happy that real life matches the story now.
> 
> Thank you to everyone for reading and commenting! I'm so happy you share my CM/TH evil twin theory!

It’s hours before Arthur makes it back to his room. The fight had gone on longer than he’d expected, but in the end Yusuf had won with a TKO in the tenth round. Eames had ended on his feet, and he’d surprised more than a few people with his performance, but in the end he’d fallen to the best in the world. Still, can’t be too worried about the fall when you’ve got a $125 million net to catch you.

 

Arthur spends the night celebrating with Yusuf and their team, shedding a year’s worth of stress surrounded by the bigwigs of the industry and as many beautiful people as can fit in a penthouse hotel suite. Yusuf’s wife isn’t talking to him yet, but she didn’t throw a drink in his face, either, so Arthur considers it progress. Yusuf is officially retired, and Arthur hasn’t told anyone about his own departure, so he smiles politely and pockets one business card after another. It’s nice to know you have options.

 

It takes Arthur four tries to get his key card to work and then he drops it inside the door. He’s been up for nearly 30 hours and he’s still a little tipsy from the champagne so he doesn’t notice the naked man in his bed until he’s kicked off his shoes and dumped his jacket on the floor.

 

“Hey,” he says, nudging Eames with his foot while trying to remove his tie without choking himself. “Hey, Eames. Hey.”

 

“S’at?” Eames grumbles, lifting his head from the pillow. His face is puffy and bruised and there’s drool crusting at the corner of his mouth, but he looks so adorable Arthur kind of wants to melt.

 

“I only allow winners in my bed,” Arthur says, his voice rough from celebrating. 

 

“Fuck you,” Eames tells him and turns his back, nestling back under the sheets.

 

Arthur laughs and stumbles out of the rest of his clothes, slipping in beside Eames until he’s pressed up against his warm, solid back.

 

“Lookin’ for a kotch, then?” Arthur asks, pressing a kiss to Eames’ shoulder blade, where a livid purple bruise mars his skin. Eames flops onto his back, wide awake and grinning delightedly at Arthur.

 

“Lush, did ya learn somethin’ just for me?”

 

“I may have picked up a thing or two,” Arthus admits, pressing his palm to the truly terrible tattoo covering Eames’ upper torso.

 

“Ya fuckin’ like me,” Eames accuses, pulling Arthur closer.

 

“I do not, I’m just here for my winnings.”

 

Eames nods. “Straight to ‘usiness, then, is-it? Us goin' to mesh here, or dee ya want to press me to the winda so everyone 'an see?”

 

“I think the world has seen enough of you today,” Arthur tells him and something shutters in Eames expression. Arthur leans over him and pecks him on the lips. “I’d rather keep you all to myself.”

 

Eames smiles, but it’s dim, his mind clearly back on the fight, back on his loss.

 

“You did well today. No one expected you to last that long.”

 

“I fucking expected it,” Eames snaps, looking away.

 

“I know,” Arthur says, tracing the ink that trails up Eames’ neck. “And that’s the reason you lasted as long as you did. I could see it, you know, right to the end, you still thought you were going to win.”

 

“What mint does that dee me?” Eames asks, his body still tense.

 

“Well, for one, you earned a lot of respect in the ring, and out of it. And second, it garnered you one of the best managers in professional sports.” Arthur tilts his head at Eames, letting a slow smile curve over his lips.

 

“Yeah? Ya proper goin' to join us?” Eames asks, his hands sliding over Arthur’s waist. “Ya're nit just here to collect ya winnings?”

 

“Well, I’m definitely going to do that, but I figure if you and Ari got you this far with no help, there’s no telling where you could go with me on your side. Plus, you can afford me now.” Arthur’s grinning before he finishes speaking and Eames hooks his elbow around Arthur’s head, pulling him down for a kiss, and then Arthur is laughing as Eames’ other hand digs into his side, tickling him again.

 

Their squirming quickly turns desperate as Arthur realizes Eames is hard, their kisses growing deeper and longer as Arthur catches up, his own cock grinding against Eames’ stomach. Eames winces when Arthur bites down on his lower lip, copper springing to life on his tongue from a reopened would.

 

“We don’t have to do this now,” Arthur pants, wrapping his hand around Eames’ cock and squeezing. “You look like shit and we’re both exhausted.

 

“I've just bin mashed up in front of 50 million people, Arthur. I proper need ya to fuck me,” Eames tells him seriously, and then Arthur’s rolling him onto his stomach and draping himself over Eames’ hard worked body, kissing his way down the back of his neck to his shoulders. Down the thorns along his spine to the small of his back. Eames pushes his ass up, groaning when Arthur’s tongue slips between his cheeks.

 

“Lube's 'eside the 'ed,” Eames mumbles, throwing his hand up toward the sidetable.

 

“You’re ridiculous” Arthur remarks, sinking his teeth into the swell of Eames’ ass.

 

“Couldn't hav ya turnin' me away.”

 

“Never,” Arthur growls, spreading Eames’ cheeks and licking from his balls to his hole.

 

Eames lets out a breathy moan and get his knees under him, pushing back into Arthur’s mouth and holding himself open with his inked-up hands. Arthur is relentless, sucking and nipping at Eames’ tender flesh, prodding at his hole until it’s loose enough to slip the tip of his tongue inside. Eames keens and swears, his hand going to his cock.

 

Arthur digs his nails into Eames’ wrist, stopping him. “Don’t.”

 

Eames grunts and drops his hand, using it instead to reach back and grip Arthur’s hair, returning his focus to ass. Arthur laughs and presses his tongue in further, Eames opening up around him the smallest bit at a time. Slowly, reluctantly giving himself over to Arthur, much as Arthur has given himself over to Eames. 

 

Arthur slows down when he slides a finger inside, careful and wet with too much lube because Eames has had enough people be rough with him today. Eames sighs and drops his chest to the bed, sprawling across the cool sheets. Arthur kisses the dimples at the base of his spine and nudges at his shoulders until Eames takes the hint and rolls over. His face is flushed and his eyes are glassy, and Arthur has never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

 

“I knew ya liked me,” Eames says, his voice a soft burr.

 

Arthur responds by twisting a second in as far as he can. Eames’ back arches off the bed and he laughs.

 

“Oh, lush, I like ya, too.”

 

Arthur kisses him to shut him up, curling over Eames’ ridiculous body, all that power and strength hidden beneath pale skin and shitty tattoos. Every muscle toned and sculpted to prove his worth, to be the best, and here he lies, lax and easy, letting Arthur take control like it doesn’t cost him anything. Arthur maybe falls in love a little right then so he adds a third finger and more lube, working Eames open slowly, softly, until he’s squirming under him and gasping for more.

 

The sun is rising over the strip by the time Arthur finally presses into Eames, still so careful, savouring every inch as Eames unfurls for him, his hole still tight, his inner walls gripping Arthur and pulling him in. Eames lets out a shaky sigh when Arthur’s hips still, flush with his ass. He’s twitchy around Arthur’s length and it makes Arthur want to bend Eames in half and go for that last half inch.

 

“Move,” Eames grits out, hooking his hands behind his knees and pulling them to his chest.

 

Arthur laughs and falls forward, bracing himself on either side of Eames’ shoulders. He rolls his hips and Eames’ eyelids flutter so he does it again, long, slow strokes so he can feel every little squeeze of Eames around him.

 

Eames grabs him by the back of the head, his fingers pulling roughly at Arthur’s hair. “Arthur, love, I appreciate ya wantin' to care for me, 'ut if ya dinnit fuck me reel now, i'm goin' to pin ya down n' dee it myself.”

 

Arthur laughs again and kisses him, deep and filthy. He pulls out and slaps Eames’ hip, the sound sharp and loud in the early morning silence. “Roll over, asshole.”

 

Eames grins and complies, dropping his chest to the bed and wiggling his ass in the air. Arthur spreads him wide and shoves in without preamble, pulling a lengthy groan out of Eames. It’s tighter this way and Arthur can go deeper so he doesn’t waste any time. His fingers dig into Eames’ skin at his shoulder and hip and Arthur puts all the energy he has left into fucking Eames into the mattress. Unsurprisingly, Eames is loud, biting out curses and encouragements in the same breath as Arthur’s hips slap against his ass. Arthur presses the heel of his palm between Eames’ shoulder blades, forcing him flat and changing the angle until Eames screams.

 

“Fuck, lush, right there,” he gasps, hands scrabbling at the sheets.

 

“Can you come like this?” Arthur pants, trying to keep up the pace and not lose his grip on Eames.

 

“I don’ know, I don’ know,” Eames whines, his eyes squeezed shut.

 

“You can, come on. For me, Eames, you can do it,” Arthur urges, the hand not pinning Eames down stroking gently over his ribs. “Come on, baby.”

 

“Arthur,” Eames gasps, clenching around him so tight that Arthur’s hips stutter, and then Eames is coming, shuddering under him and spilling onto the sheets.

 

Arthur chokes out a cry at the death grip on his cock, and then Eames is slipping down to the bed, tired and spent, and probably half asleep already. Arthur lets him go, easing him down and hiking Eames’ knees up on either side so Arthur still has room to move.

 

“‘S good, lush, keep goin’,” Eames slurs.

 

“I had no intention of stopping, but thanks.” Arthur goes back to long, slow thrusts, his cock sliding easily in and out of Eames. Eames jolts and whines when Arthur grazes his prostate, so he lowers himself across Eames’ back, hooking his hands under Eames’ armpits to grip his shoulders and grind into him.

 

He pressed his forehead to Eames’ spine, sweat pooling between them where they’re touching, making it easier for Arthur to glide over Eames’ body. He’s exhausted, but Eames feels so amazing and he doesn’t want this to end.

 

“S’all right, us 'an dee it again later, love,” Eames whispers. “Us dinnit ever havta stop.”

 

“Yeah?” Arthur asks, his whole body shaking with effort.

 

“Yeah, come on,” Eames urges, squeezing around him. That’s all it takes for Arthur to let go, his skin tightening as the wave of his orgasm rolls through him, strong and slow, leaching out the last of his energy. Arthur slumps, sticky and sated, and with zero interest in ever moving again.

 

“Ya're heavier than ya look, lush,” Eames grunts, rolling onto his side and dislodging Arthur. 

 

Eames’ belly is smeared with come and Arthur laughs, trailing a finger through it. “S’an improvement.”

 

“Fuck you,” Eames huffs, draping himself across Arthur chest and burying his face against Arthur’s neck.

 

Arthur pats his shoulder, sleep pulling at him. “Next time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary
> 
> “Lookin’ for a kotch, then?” - Looking for a cuddle/to chill out, then?  
>  “Straight to ‘usiness, then, is-it? Us goin' to mesh here, or dee ya want to press me to the winda so everyone 'an see?” - Straight to business, I guess. Are we going to have sex here, or do you want to press me against the window to everyone can see us?  
> “What mint does that dee me?” - What good does that do me?  
> “Yeah? Ya proper goin' to join us?” - Yeah? You’re really going to join us?  
> “Ya're nit just here to collect ya winnings?” - You’re not just here to collect your winnings?  
> “I've just bin mashed up in front of 50 million people, Arthur. I proper need ya to fuck me,” - I’ve just been beat in front of 50 million people, Arthur. I really need you to fuck me,  
> “Lube's 'eside the 'ed,” - The lube is beside the bed, (such a gentleman)  
> “Arthur, love, I appreciate ya wantin' to care for me, 'ut if ya dinnit fuck me reel now, i'm goin' to pin ya down n' dee it myself.” - Arthur, I appreciate you wanting to take care of me, but if you don’t fuck me hard right now, I’m going to pin you down and do it myself.  
> “S’all right, us 'an dee it again later, love,” - It’s all right, we can do it again later.

**Author's Note:**

> Glossary
> 
> “Ya dinnit like it rough, then, pet?” - You don’t like it rough, then, pet?  
> “Only thin’ that crump give me was his name,” - The only thing that (bad) man gave me was his name.  
> “N’ his pretty face.” - And his pretty face.  
> “Lush” - Good-looking person.  
> “Ya condescension, as always, is like, much appreciated, Arthur, cheers mate.” - Your condescension, as always, is much appreciated, Arthur, thank you. (Yeah, that’s right, I did it.)


End file.
